"How many times has it been already? And you're still this rough!"

A light sheen of sweat clung to Evangeline Sinclair's skin. She had barely finished that soft, half-complaining line when the man hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her up from the bed.

"And how many more do you want?" His voice was low and husky, the kind of voice that could make even the most ordinary words sound dangerously seductive.

Evangeline was absolutely gone for this side of him, the way he used actions instead of empty talk in bed.

Too bad. Tonight was the last time.

She was still savoring it, honestly not quite ready to stop, but she still lifted a hand and pressed it against his firm chest. "No more."

Her voice was wrecked, hoarse beyond saving, and her limbs felt so limp it was like all the bones had melted out of her body.

The man looked at her soft, boneless state and couldn't help curling his lips into a smile, indulgent and a little amused.

Then he let her go and headed into the bathroom for a shower.

By the time he came out, Evangeline had already gotten dressed and was standing before the mirror putting on her earrings.

In the mirror, she looked stunning to the point of being lethal, all sharp, glamorous beauty with a face so striking she'd easily wipe the floor with most women in the entertainment industry.

Her long black curls framed skin as pale and smooth as porcelain, making it almost impossible to look away.

Especially her waist.

Every time he held it during sex, it felt so slim and fragile that one hard squeeze might snap it.

The man had only a bath towel wrapped around his waist. He walked up behind her and circled her with one long arm. "Not staying the night?"

Evangeline turned to look at that unfairly handsome face of his, and for a second, she really was reluctant to leave.

They'd been sleeping together for a year, and their bodies fit each other ridiculously well. Ending it just like that? Honestly, what a waste.

But there was no helping it.

She put on a deliberately aggrieved expression, though the charm in her eyes was impossible to hide. Her fingertips brushed lightly over his cheek as she said, "I don't want to either. But what can I do? Who would've thought my husband, who'd been dead for three years, would suddenly come back to life? I need to go home and play the good wife and loving mother."

The moment she said that, the heat in the man’s eyes vanished on the spot, replaced by something dark and heavy.

“You’re married?” He sounded genuinely stunned.

Evangeline Sinclair was a little surprised too. She had assumed he’d known all along that she was a widow.

Before, it hadn’t really mattered. But after tonight, if anything happened between them again, then the label of “cheating” would stick to her for real.

And no way was she about to give up the Wyndham family’s fortune—worth hundreds of billions—just for a bit of physical thrill.

“Yeah.” She lifted her hand and showed him the diamond ring she had never actually worn.

In the next second, the man slammed both hands against the vanity, caging Evangeline in his arms.

It startled her badly.

After a brief pause, Evangeline raised her arms, looped them around his neck, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Let’s end this on a good note. This past year... I was happy.”

After saying that, she moved to grab her phone and send him money, but the moment she shifted, he caught her wrist.

Right after that, he slid the ring off her ring finger.

“This is enough.”

*

Evangeline got into the car with one hand braced against her waist. She really hadn’t expected that, even when she was already about to leave, the man would drag her back, pin her against the vanity, and give her one last breakup round before finally letting her go.

After a thirty-minute drive, she returned to Wyndham Manor. The second she walked in, dozens of eyes turned toward her all at once.

“So lively?”

It was just Tristan Wyndham coming back from the dead. What was there to make such a huge fuss about?

The moment she finished speaking, her sister-in-law, Seraphina Wyndham, drifted over with a look full of gossip. “Yo, you’re still this calm? Just wait. There’s a real show coming for you in a bit.”

A show? What kind of show?

Evangeline said nothing. She only lifted a hand and quietly rubbed her aching lower back.

Just as she was about to throw out a few words in rebuttal, the butler called her upstairs.

She lifted a hand, knocked, and stepped into the study.

After three whole years, she was seeing that man again—her husband, at least on paper. For a second, Evangeline Sinclair actually felt dazed, like time had folded in on itself.

Three years ago, she married Tristan Wyndham. On their wedding night, he left her behind and went abroad, saying it was for work.

She endured it.

As the Wyndham family’s adopted daughter, she had never really had the right to choose. Whatever the Wyndhams decided, she followed.

But not long after that, news of Tristan’s “death” came back. They said he’d died in an avalanche. His body was never found.

The Wyndham family refused to accept it. They searched for three years and still would not admit he was dead.

During those three years, the family was a total mess, fighting among themselves nonstop. As Tristan’s wife, the assets under his name naturally fell into her hands after he was presumed dead.

The family was afraid she’d run, so they kept her here by force.

And now, Tristan was back...

Looking at the man in front of her—cold brows, restrained bearing, tall, polished, every inch the untouchable heir—he looked almost exactly the same as he had three years ago. No, actually, he was even more composed now, more mature, more dangerously attractive.

"Evangeline, what are you standing there for?"

At Old Mr. Wyndham’s call, she snapped out of it and walked over at once.

"Grandpa."

"Now that Tristan is back, the two of you should work together as husband and wife and build Wyndham Group properly." Old Mr. Wyndham’s eyes were faintly wet. It was obvious he was emotional over his grandson’s return.

Evangeline nodded. Even she was a little surprised by how calm she was.

Her identity had shifted from wealthy-family "widow" back to wealthy-family madam, but honestly, what was the real difference?

At the end of the day, it was just widowhood in another form. Back when they got married, Tristan had made himself crystal clear.

"Evangeline Sinclair, don’t even dream of me laying a finger on you."

— “Evangeline Sinclair, I will never, ever fall for a scheming woman like you!”

So what if he wouldn’t? As if she cared that much.

“I understand, Grandpa,” Evangeline said at once, respectful to the point of flawless, almost not a hint of resistance in her voice.

Before Old Mr. Wyndham could say another word, the study door was pushed open from outside.

The next second, a woman with soft, delicate features and a gentle, polished air walked in, carrying a little boy who looked about two years old.

The moment she entered, she went straight to Tristan Wyndham. “Tristan, Yaoyao kept fussing and insisting he wanted to see you. I really couldn’t calm him down.”

Evangeline watched as Tristan, smooth and practiced, took the child from her arms.

Her eyelid twitched out of nowhere. The smile on her face froze for a beat, disbelief flickering through it. “Wait. Tristan Wyndham… you have a son?”